“Did you see what happened, Mr. Ledford?”
He shook his head. “I was in my office when I heard the commotion. It appears to me that this man was shot in the street, not in my establishment.” He nodded to Mary Lou. “I see no reason for my presence here.” He turned and walked away. The doors of the saloon swooshed behind him as he disappeared into the dark interior.
She decided to go straight to the heart of the matter. Leaning in as the doctor sat the shooting victim up, she asked, “Sir, do you know the man who shot you?”
“I do.” His words were weak and he slumped against the doctor.
Jared interrupted again. “Who was it?”
The victim laughed. “I shot myself. My pa warned me that gun had a hair trigger. Went off in my lap when I reached to pull my winnings from the middle of the table.” He suddenly looked around the circle of bystanders, very concerned. “Hey! Who got my money?”
Mary Lou sighed and backed away from the group. She knew without looking behind her that the crowd was dispersing. One man’s careless actions had caused quite a stir. The gamblers who took his money had probably tossed him into the street. End of story.
Jared caught up to her as she stepped onto the porch in front of the paper. “Are you just walking away without finding out what happened?”
She stopped and turned on her heel. “There is no story. It was an accident.”
Jared spread his arms wide, palms up. “No story? What about the man sitting in the jail this minute? He probably has a story to tell.”
“He was a victim of the commotion. The sheriff will release him as soon as he knows the victim shot himself. The man said he didn’t do it before he was taken to jail.”
“I’m not so sure.” His eyes narrowed. “Not so sure at all.” He lifted a hand in parting. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
She went into the paper and dropped her notebook on the desk. Picking up the composing stick and beginning to reassemble the work she’d dropped onto the floor earlier, she wasn’t surprised when Jared didn’t follow her inside. He may be off on a fool’s errand, but she had a paper to print.
* * *
Jared turned the corner on Main Street and headed for the sheriff’s office. Why would a man run away from a shooting with his gun drawn if he didn’t have anything to do with it? Something didn’t sit right in Jared’s craw about this presumed-innocent stranger.
He opened the door of the sheriff’s office and stepped inside.
“What is it now, Ivy? Can’t you see I’m a busy man?” Sheriff Collins pulled the large key from the lock on the cell door at the back of his office. He hung the ring on a nail on the wall behind his desk. The man he’d hauled away from the scene minutes earlier declared his innocence from behind the bars.
“Hush up!” the sheriff warned the alleged criminal in the cell. He put the man’s gun in the top drawer of his desk, locked it, dropped that key into the pocket of his leather vest and patted it. “You’ve caused enough trouble here today. Sit down and be quiet.”
Jared watched the man who had appeared guilty after his attempt to leave the scene. What had really happened in the saloon? “Sheriff, the fellow with the bullet in his leg says he shot himself.”
The prisoner rattled the door of the cell. “I told you I didn’t shoot him!”
Sheriff Collins pinned the man with a stare. “I won’t tell you again to be quiet.” He asked Jared, “How did he say it happened?”
“Said his gun had a hair trigger and went off when he reached to pull the pot he’d won from the middle of the table. His only complaint is not knowing where his money went.”
The sheriff looked from Jared to the occupant of the cell. “How much money you got on you?”
“What?” The man was outraged. “First I’m a gunman, now I’m a thief?”
Jared studied the man. He didn’t yet know what to think about the events of the last hour. “Why did you run?”
The man almost snorted at him. “Ever been in a saloon when gunfire erupts? Everybody runs.”
The sheriff pulled his lips in under the heavy mustache he wore and leaned his head to one side before shaking it. “No. Everybody doesn’t.”
Jared noticed the clothes the man wore. He looked familiar. “Who are you?”
“I’ll ask the questions, Mr. Ivy.” The sheriff didn’t seem pleased to have someone horn in on his territory, but Jared’s innate curiosity had his mind full of questions.
The prisoner pointed through the bars at Jared. “He just told you that man shot himself. You got no reason to hold me here.”
“I’ll be the one decidin’ if there’s a reason to hold you.” The sheriff leaned against the side of his desk and folded his arms across his chest. “I’d like to know the same thing Mr. Ivy is asking. Who are you?”
“Name’s Elmer Finch. I’m a newsagent on the train.”
“That’s where I saw you.” Jared knew he’d seen that face recently.
“Well, I’ll just go around to the depot and speak to the station master then.” The sheriff straightened and headed for the door.
Elmer Finch spoke up. “The station master probably won’t know me. Today is my first day with the line. You’ll have to speak to someone on the train. I’d appreciate it if you’re quick about it. The train had a long stop so some repairs could be made. I’ve only got a half hour before I’m supposed to be back on the job.”
Sheriff Collins banged the door behind him as he left.
Jared walked to the cell. “What were you doing in the saloon?”
Mr. Finch didn’t meet his eye. A sure sign to Jared that he wasn’t being honest. “I was having supper.”
“Hmm...” It wouldn’t be productive to question someone who was lying. He decided to follow the sheriff and see what they could learn at the depot.
“You can mutter all you want. I’m telling you the truth.” Elmer Finch’s words rang out behind him as Jared closed the door to the sheriff’s office.
Something wasn’t right and Jared was determined to find out what it was.
After a trip to the depot and the doctor’s office, Jared headed back to the paper. It might be his first day in town, but he was already stirring with anticipation about putting his first story in the paper. He opened the door and stopped short as a young man hung a copy of the paper to dry. Mary Lou loaded the next sheet of paper for printing. Several copies hung along the outer edge of the office.
“Why did you start printing the paper before I got back?”
“We always print on Saturday when we can. I don’t like to work on the Lord’s Day or wait until Monday morning. It gives overnight for the
